The Summer Queen

9

Bourges, Christmas 1137

The court assembled at the city of Bourges to celebrate the Christmas feast and to crown Louis and Alienor before a great gathering of vassals and courtiers. The city was full to bursting with nobles and their retinues and as always there was a large overspill of tents and shelters to lodge those who could not be accommodated within the castle or at the inns and hostels in the city.

Alienor intended wearing her wedding dress for the coronation ceremony, but it had to be altered because she had grown taller since her marriage and her figure had developed the fuller curves of womanhood.

Set free from yet another fitting by the seamstresses, she went arm in arm with Petronella to the great hall where an informal meal had been arranged on trestles for the senior barons and vassals. Tomorrow the seating would be official, but today the still-arriving guests could mingle as they chose.

‘I wager you a gold ring that Louis’s mother will find excuses to spend time with Matthew de Montmorency,’ Petronella whispered to Alienor as they prepared to enter the hall.

‘I never wager when I’m certain to lose,’ Alienor replied. She too had noticed the flush in Adelaide’s cheeks whenever the steward was near, and had observed their frequent discussions – which always remained within the bounds of propriety. ‘I wish them well. Anything that distracts her attention from me is welcome.’

A striding nobleman crossed the sisters’ path and both parties had to stop abruptly to avoid a collision. He drew breath to remonstrate, but then his glance flicked over their rich garments and the attendant ladies, and he swept a bow instead.

‘Madam, forgive me. Let all make way for the matchless beauty of the Queen of France.’

Alienor had never seen a man so handsome. He was tall with thick, shining hair mid-way between red and gold. His skin was as pale as alabaster, and his eyes were a clear blue-green, made vivid by the contrasting darkness of the pupils. A closely trimmed auburn beard edged his jawline and gave emphasis to a firm masculine mouth. His nose was straight as an arrow and fine.

‘Sire, I do not know your name,’ she said, feeling flustered.

He bowed again. ‘I am Geoffrey, Count of Anjou. Your father rode on campaign with me in Normandy last year, God rest his soul. We had many mutual interests.’ His gaze was predatory and amused.

‘You are welcome at court, sire,’ she said, trying not to show how much his direct stare perturbed her.

‘That is good to know.’ His voice developed an edge. ‘There are times when such has not been the case, but I hope for harmony in keeping with the season.’ He bowed a final time and moved on, pausing once to dazzle a smile over his shoulder.

Petronella giggled behind her hand and nudged Alienor. ‘He’s handsome!’

Alienor felt as if Geoffrey of Anjou had stripped her to her chemise in front of everyone, even though their exchange had been one of social formality. She was intensely aware of him in the room now, and because of that was also aware of her own actions and how she might appear to others. ‘Behave, Petra,’ she hissed.

‘Is he married?’

‘Yes, to the Empress Matilda, daughter of old King Henry of England.’ Another memory came to her: of overhearing talk in her father’s hall when Count Geoffrey had written to her father proposing a marriage between herself and Geoffrey’s infant son. Her father had refused with a snort of derision at Angevin audacity. But given different circumstances, Geoffrey could have been her father-in-law, and her husband a boy not yet five years old.

Petronella gave her another dig in the side. ‘He’s still staring at us.’

‘Well, don’t look at him.’ Alienor grabbed Petronella by the hand and made her way through the gathering to join Archbishop Gofrid, knowing she would be safe with him while she recovered her composure. Even so, she could feel Geoffrey’s gaze on her, and dared not glance round to meet his knowing smile.

‘Geoffrey of Anjou …’ Louis paced the bedchamber like a restless dog. ‘I would not trust him as far as I could throw a lance, for all that he swears us his fealty and goodwill.’

The informal feasting had finished late, and some carousing was still going on in the lodgings and amid the army of tents outside the castle walls. Dressed in her chemise, Alienor sat braiding her hair before the fire. Even the thought of Geoffrey made her feel restless and hot. It was like seeing a beautiful, spirited stallion arching his crest and swishing his tail in the stable yard. All that charisma, virility and danger. What would it be like to master a beast like that – to ride it? ‘Why not?’ she asked.

‘Because he is fickle,’ Louis growled. ‘If it suits his purpose, he will renege on his oath of fidelity. He is hungry for influence and power. He wants Normandy every bit as much as that termagant wife of his wants England. Imagine if he did gain it? Where would he look next but to French territory?’ He reached the end of the room and turned. ‘I heard he approached your father about a match between you and his son.’

‘Which my father refused.’

‘Yes, but it shows he will snatch at any opportunity that comes his way.’

Alienor said nothing. Louis’s own father had hardly been noble in his motives when he seized the moment.

‘He thinks his looks and his influence will gain him whatever he desires, but he is a fool. That his father is King of Jerusalem means nothing to me.’

‘What does he want?’ Louis must have been talking to Suger and Theobald of Blois to be this agitated. His own aversion would not be so strong. The Blois faction was the natural enemy of Anjou, and Geoffrey was fighting Theobald’s brother Stephen for Normandy.

Louis snorted. ‘A marriage alliance,’ he said. ‘He was fishing for a betrothal between Constance and his son.’

Alienor was briefly startled, but not surprised when she thought beyond the person of Louis’s pale, fair-haired sister to the implications.

‘I refused him,’ Louis said. ‘It is hardly in our interests to give a man like that a leg-up to the saddle, and I would not entrust Constance to either him or that virago wife of his.’

Alienor suspected Geoffrey of Anjou would find his way to the top anyway, and from what she had heard about the Empress Matilda, she was not unlike her own mother-in-law. ‘What did he say?’

Louis scowled. ‘That he understood, but hoped I would keep his offer in mind, since circumstances often change.’

‘Did you say you would?’

Louis flicked her an irritated look. ‘I made it clear the matter was not open to discussion. I have better things to do than to waste time on a red-haired Angevin upstart.’

‘But what if his wife becomes Queen of England?’

‘God forbid,’ Louis snapped. ‘I doubt it will happen. Their cause is a lost one before they begin. Rather let Constance go to Stephen’s heir and wed into the power already on the throne.’

Alienor was thoughtful. That seemed a sensible decision, but there was something about Geoffrey that made her think Louis was underestimating him.

‘I’ll be glad to have him gone from court,’ Louis added. ‘He’s a disruptive influence. I don’t want you or any of the women to go near him, is that understood?’

‘But it is my duty to speak with your vassals and be a good hostess,’ she protested.

‘Well, speak to the old ones and to the bishops. Leave Geoffrey of Anjou alone – I mean it.’ He came to stand over her, hands on his hips. ‘Tongues are swift to wag. The Queen of France must be above reproach.’

Alienor felt a spark of excitement at Louis’s obvious jealousy. ‘Do you not trust me?’ She rose to face him.

‘I do not trust him – as I told you.’ Louis pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Do I have your word on this?’

She kissed him back, and then smoothed away his frown with her fingertips. ‘I promise I will be very careful. Are you coming to bed?’

Over the ensuing days, Alienor made sure she was indeed careful, because the thought of being alone with Geoffrey of Anjou was far too unsettling. She talked to the older vassals and the bishops. She kept company with the wives and daughters. The nearest she came to being undone was when Geoffrey held her hand during a Christmas revel dance and, at the end, kissed the inside of her wrist, grazing her skin lightly with his teeth – the implication being that she was good enough to eat – before bowing and walking away. It was all play, but far from innocent on his part. The experience sent a jolt through her body, but also made her narrow her eyes. She had a great deal to learn, but learn it she would, and one day, her knowledge would be greater than his, and she would be the one to turn him inside out as lightly as breathing.